A Willocks Wonder, a Sunday gig for those that like it Underdog, an opportunity for those that like to slurp and sing-a-long on a quiet afternoon – forget Thora Hird and Stars on Sunday, get down to The Station and enjoy – well that’s the idea.

I shall be brief, I am rather pushed of late, I am all dry on the gig reviewing front – the textual tap has got stuck, it has been left on too long and the worded water splashed on far too many CD reviews for ones own good – fuckity fuck.

Arriving at the gaff I missed half of The Thirtina’s set so had a drink with some faces just around the corner – potential drunks they were later described as – mmm – aren’t we all? The QC and lager rolled down, it is the start of the Festive Season after all – all the best and all that shambolic rubbish. More chats, wags of the jaw (and the weapon when the bladder pushed) and in for the first band – apologies in advance.

3CR – the low down. I avoid seeing this lot quite often and I am convinced it is because they think I judge them as a shabby band. Untrue – I state my case – why would anyone in their right frame of mind want to watch the same old bands time after time and gradually wear away any interest whatsoever – it be beyond my comprehension. Are you with me? So, after several avoidances it was my turn to suffer the filthy tomfoolery that spills from the trio of twattology. I should say this was shite (so as to keep any credibility I have left) but I quite enjoyed it. Old faves, a couple of new turns, vagabond rapist Boggy doing his chicken impressions and imitations of Mr Formby (listen closely – you can almost hear the body turn in the grave) and spouting his usual Sunday afternoon sermon. Inflatable kangaroos and guitars bounced around, a football was nutted here and there, beer mats whizzed through the air, inane grins encouraged by ale were aplenty. Several songs had been enhanced since I last saw them, the most notable of which was ‘Porno Star’ – nicely spruced up. ‘Old Ladies’ is crude and jazzed (or should that be jizzed) and ‘What A Carry On’ is modern day farce that most people accept as a matter of course. 3CR emanate a mental illness, do the punters sympathise or really enjoy what is going on? If, like me, they dabble now and again, they may very well have a smile on their face throughout. Where will this lot be in 10 years time – well if not prison I reckon still at the Station playing the same songs – is that a bad thing – there are worse things one could do (just take a look under Shaun Shit’s floorboards for proof of that – hint, hint).

More ale, Obsessive Compulsive next – from the fucked it seems to the fucking.

I have viewed this lot a brace of times in the past, the last time a good few years back. Was I impressed – you bet – why – because they riff and roll in unison and tear out a noise not to be ignored. I own fuck all by em’ so am not as familiar with the tunes as others (I can’t listen to every band under the sun tha’ knows) but what I can recognise is many powerful blasts being mastered and thrown forth by a unit very much in command of their cacophony. The lass at the front almost tears herself several vaginas (be careful Boggy is on the prowl) with the grim determination she puts in and the two string men back her up with some very decent work indeed. In fact, the strings ooze menace and composure and really do flourish alongside one another and make for a well drilled spectacle. The guys dig their grooves, copulate in a kind of sub-sexed perversity with their chorded offspring no sooner borne than at the listener’s throat. Sticks are classy and next time you watch this lot take time out to study – many varied slaps and tickles here and there and very little room to get sloppy (no I am not referring back to those extra vaginas). A concrete set I really do need to get more familiar with – can’t fault em’ and the rock side of the musical pit should consume readily.

Slab next – wow – what a pure mincing machine. If every band where to be described as an arsehole this one would be ridged with painful rhythms, be as tight as buggery (in fact after buggery the said ring wouldn’t be tight so please excuse the rectal faux pas) and exuding an almost constipated noise that would make the boat race grimace with effort. This is high voltage shit and the electric shocks that travel up the duodenum of dinnage cannot be avoided and all one can do is submit to the sonic spasms that instantly overwhelm. Slab never let up, it is a glorious stench they make and the pile-driving force can surely only be likened to a fisting by Desperate Dan – oooh sir take it easy. Many will wallow in this intensity, some will find it not to their liking – perverts of noise will be hooked. The riffage is played with sincerity, the lads are in love with the overload – and why shouldn’t they be. After the QC and the previous 2 bands my head was getting a right toasting and I should have surfaced for air but this crew hypnotise with their intent – as I said – wow!

I am cracking on – lots to do tha’ knows.

Critikill – a new band for me (unbelievably so) – fuckin’ smashing stuff. Again highly charged slam dunking racket making that encouraged a few to get up and join in. The tidal wave of tuneage was very good indeed and even though several shades less harsh than the previous crew this lot could compete due to their extra melody and overall spunkiness. The crowd were loving this and several were singing along and bobbing their beer soaked noggins. Due to this being a ‘live’ debut viewing I was happy to go with the flow and try and get that initial judgement well and truly captured without digging too deep. It wasn’t hard – for me a band to see again soon and a noise to savour. How I have missed these so many times is beyond comprehension but I have a few bands like that – I just never seem to catch up with em’ – irritating it is but as I always say ‘I can’t be fuckin’ everywhere’. I like this lot, they shall be noted for another close up encounter soon and remember – if they are playing near you don’t leave it as long as I have.

More ale – yummy.

Finally Jock Sparra – fuckin’ hell. I hate Cock Sparrer, this is more of the same but without the Cock and is pure party time, nostalgia nut escapism and…done so wonderfully well. There ya go – fuckin’ said it – I can only be honest. CS have a few good toons I gotta admit but the big gush that goes with this band is beyond me – a whole lot of Nationalistic pride and yet most of it is by people who are happy to see our green and pleasant land turn to concrete and shit – strange. Anyway having spoken earlier to the front guy (a nice chap indeed) I was keen to see the end result. The band did what they did and despite it not hitting my DIY radar I reckon the majority loved it and had a grand old time into the bargain. The band applied themselves excellently, the lead loon is a grand entertainer and a bag of well brewed beans who helps carry the wave of enthusiasm and thus gets the punters involved. I left the just before the end because I had a lift waiting but when outside the shindig inside sure as hell sounded convincing – hey ho – leave the buggers to it and good luck to em’.

There ya go, typed in, done from a DIY Doofers point of view and straight from the hip. I gotta get my reviewing head on soon as I have been slack on this front (no one else will offer) and so I hope this does the job in the interim. Big up for the ones who made it, the venue and Keith of 3CR who does his bit. Cheap, cheerful, something for everyone – better than going to Sham 69 for £15 I reckon – fuck I just can’t help it can I?